The Fireman (20 page)

‘I don’t want to see your ugly face in this office without an interview with Kemp. Margaret’s already been on the phone to say that we’ve got the bastard bang to rights. All we need is a quote from him to tie the whole thing together. Get the fuck back in there.’

‘Yes Malky, no Malky, three bags full Malky,’ I said, but I wasn’t being brave because he’d hung up on me again. I was getting used to talking to a dead phone. There was only one thing to do. I needed the work so I needed this story. So I went back to the all-too-familiar door and pressed the buzzer and Kemp came out and smiled and put his arm around me and said ‘Jesus, kid, you’ve got guts’ and invited me in and poured me a whisky and told me his life story. Yeah, and if you believe that you’ll believe the bit where the cavalry came charging over the hill at the last moment or the one where the good guy gets the girl and the bad guy gets thrown into the slammer. I’d stopped leaving a tooth under my pillow years ago, and I knew full well that if I went anywhere near Kemp again all I’d get would be a sizeable dose of GBH. Malky had done me a big favour by letting me know that the tip we’d had was kosher, so I sat on the stone stairs oblivious to the foul smells that wafted around me and took my notebook out of my pocket. My throat ached like hell but I couldn’t stop smiling to myself as, in my very best T-line shorthand, I wrote down a one hundred per cent fictional interview with Mr Kemp, along the lines of ‘It’s a fair cop, you’ve got me bang to rights.’ It was the first time I’d made up quotes to get a story to stand up, but it wasn’t the last. I was surprised how easy it was. Ethics? It’s a county near Sussex, isn’t it?

I got a joint by-line on the late edition splash and a slap on the back from Big Malky that rattled my teeth every bit as much as Kemp’s punch. The delightful Mr Kemp made a few threatening phone calls to the office and once had to be escorted from the building by a couple of security guards but there was nothing he could do – he didn’t have enough money to sue a newspaper, few people do.

I slept and dreamt of Sally.

I woke with a start and when I squinted at my watch it was noon so I guess it was the bloody cannon that had shocked me out of sleep. My head hurt, a lot, I couldn’t breathe through my nose and my stomach felt as if it had been used as a trampoline by a couple of Russian shot-putters.

I suppose the fight could have had something to do with it but it was hard to tell because that’s how I normally felt after a really hard night’s drinking. I liked to think of the previous evening’s encounter as a fight rather than a beating. It made my ego feel a little less bruised, though it didn’t do much for my nose or stomach. I tried to sit up and the pain brought back memories of the kick in the back so I stayed where I was and listened to Howard snoring on the neighbouring bed. He looked a lot older in sleep, I found it difficult to imagine him frolicking with a young Thai girl, even flat on his back his private parts seemed practically inaccessible. I tried visualizing all the positions, all the angles, but I couldn’t see any way that he’d be able to achieve copulation. I reached over to the bedside phone and ordered coffee and orange juice. A loud snore reminded me that Howard might want breakfast so I ordered the same for him.

I managed to get to the shower and ten minutes under hot water ironed out some of the wrinkles and once I’d cleaned my teeth and gulped down a hot cup of coffee I could swallow without grimacing, though it still felt as if a hamster had shat in my mouth during the night. I shook Howard awake.

‘Some nursemaid,’ I said, but I don’t think he heard me.

He made some sort of snuffling, gurgling noise and groped his way to the bathroom like an elephant looking for somewhere to die. When he reappeared it was with a large, white towel wrapped around his waist. He had perfect feet, the toes straight and square and not a callus or lump to be seen.

‘How do you feel?’ he asked.

‘Like I look,’ I said. ‘Like a train ran over me. Do you have any idea who they were?’

‘I didn’t recognize them. Did they take anything?’

I checked my wallet. There was nothing missing and my passport was still in my inside jacket pocket. Sally’s watch was still there. ‘No, it wasn’t a mugging,’ I said. ‘What did they say?’

‘I don’t know, I told you my Cantonese isn’t up to much. When they were talking to each other they spoke too quickly and they used slang. I couldn’t catch what was being said. And when they pushed me into the bathroom all they said was to keep quiet or they’d kill me. That was easy to understand.’

‘So what was it? A warning? Well, why didn’t they say something?’

‘Maybe they were going to before you kicked the guy with the knife. Maybe he was the only one who could speak English. I don’t know. It could be they were going to say something before hotel security turned up.’

‘Hotel security?’

‘Yeah, they came up a couple of minutes after you passed out. Wanted to find out what all the screaming was about. They came haring down the corridor and the three stooges ran off. You were still unconscious so they went off to get a doctor. While they were gone you came round and I put you to bed. You were fast asleep when the doctor arrived, he gave you a quick once over and said no damage had been done.’

I fingered my sore lip. ‘Fat lot he knows about it,’ I said.

‘Security asked me if we wanted to call the police and I said to wait until I’d checked with you. They seemed more concerned about waking up the other guests.’

‘Hardly seems worth calling the police in, does it? Seeing how much effort they put into investigating a possible murder, I don’t see them getting excited over a simple assault.’

‘The fact you were attacked might persuade them that Sally’s case needs a closer look.’

‘No, fuck them, Howard. We won’t get any help from them, I’m sure.’

‘OK. Whatever you say.’

‘I want to see this guy Slazenger,’ I said as he sipped his glass of orange juice.

‘Slazenger?’ he queried.

‘The American. The Mandarin speaker.’

‘Seligman, you mean. Tod Seligman.’

‘Can you arrange it? For today?’ He sat down on the bed and sighed.

‘I don’t see why not. He works the night shift and sleeps until the afternoon, I’ll give him a call now.’

‘One other thing, Howard. The ICAC. I want to talk to someone there.’

‘Today?’

‘If you can fix it.’ Of course he could fix it, that’s what stringers are for. As he phoned I dressed, slowly because it still hurt to move. I retrieved the can of deodorant from the floor by the bed and liberally sprayed my armpits, my groin and anywhere else that was likely to sweat during the day.

‘Tod’s not working tonight,’ Howard said, dialling again. ‘He’ll meet us for a drink in Wanchai, 9.30. Do you want me to go with you to the ICAC?’

‘No need. Just fix up the meet for me.’ He nodded, and then began speaking to the phone, idly scratching his thigh under the towel as rivulets of water dripped down the back of his legs and stained the carpet.

I was adjusting my tie in the mirror when he finished. ‘You’re to see an ICAC officer called Tyley at three o’clock. I’ll drop you off on my way home, it’s on my way. We’ve got time to eat first, do you fancy brunch at the FCC?’

I shook my head. ‘I’ll eat here.’ I watched him climb into his clothes and still couldn’t work out how he’d ever be able to have intercourse so long as the laws of physics and gravity applied.

Shit. I still hadn’t phoned my mother. Today, I’d have to do it today. I’d have to phone the office, too, and then I figured that no, a telex would be better, in case they started putting pressure on me to go back. There was a telex form in the desk drawer and I drafted a message for Bill, explaining that there was a lot of bureaucratic paperwork to go through but that I hoped to be back in London soon.

Howard was on his way out and he had his back to me when I said quietly, ‘Has the office been on to you at all, Howie?’

I saw the shoulders tighten and he said, ‘London, you mean?’ without turning. Of course I meant London. He was playing for time, I could practically hear the wheels going around.

‘Yeah, London.’

Howard turned, forming a smile with his greasy lips. ‘One of the lads on the foreign desk gave me a call, asking what you were up to.’

‘Did you tell them?’

‘Let’s face it, laddie, I don’t know what you’re up to,’ he said, which was as good a way of not answering the question as any.

‘Why didn’t they ask me?’

‘You’ll have to ask them that yourself,’ he said, and opened the door.

‘Next time, let me know, will you,’ I said, my voice flat and hard.

‘Aye, laddie, I will.’

‘And Howie?’ He raised his eyebrows expectantly. ‘Let’s keep what happened last night a secret, shall we? No telling the police, or your friends, about the fight.’

He chuckled. ‘I’ll not say a word, but I think you’d better take a look in the mirror,’ he said, and left.

He had a point. My lip was still badly split and the left eye was bruised and there was a two inch long graze under my chin. I was examining the damage in the mirror when the telephone rang. It was Jenny.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hi,’ I said. A regular conversationalist.

‘I wanted to apologize for yesterday.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘I thought I’d upset you talking about Sally.’

‘No, it’s OK. Honest. I’d just had a rough day, that’s all.’

‘And still jetlagged.’

‘Yeah, I guess so.’ I was trying to work out whether or not I’d told her where I was staying or if someone had given her my number. Then I remembered the three questions game on the junk when I’d told her that I was booked into the Excelsior. I suppose I’m naturally suspicious, judging people by my own standards. Feigning interest, attraction or friendliness as a way of getting to a story is second nature by now, so much so that I assume that anybody who tries to get close is after something. So what was Jenny after?

‘I enjoyed the junk trip,’ I said, just to prove that I remembered where and when I met her.

She giggled. ‘So I gather. Turned out to be a case of strife on the ocean waves from what I heard.’

‘Oh dear, have I got a reputation already?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ Talking to her almost made me forget the pain in my chest and my sore face. I was glad she’d called. But still wary.

‘Have you eaten yet?’ she asked.

‘No, just got up.’

‘Can I buy you lunch?’ It seemed a real invitation, she wasn’t just offering to be polite, so I said yes and she said she’d meet me in the Dickens Bar in the basement of the hotel in half an hour.

When she arrived I was already sitting at a corner table, well away from the bar. A brown waistcoated waiter showed her the way and when she got to within six feet a look of concern crossed her face and she said, ‘My God, what happened?’ I guess I still didn’t look too good.

‘Cut myself shaving,’ I said as she slid into her chair and ordered a vodka and tonic. Today she was wearing a pale blue shirt, but again she’d turned the collar up. She was wearing a long white pleated skirt so I didn’t get the chance to admire her thighs, and she’d replaced the pearls with a thin gold chain.

‘Seriously,’ she said. ‘What happened? You’re a bit old to be getting into fights, aren’t you?’

‘Thanks a bunch,’ I said, fingering my cut lip. It hurt when I smiled.

‘Well?’ she persevered. She’d have made a good journalist, she wasn’t going to let me laugh it off.

‘Howard and I were attacked last night.’

‘My God,’ she said again, covering her mouth with her hand. There was no wedding ring. ‘Where?’

I nodded at the ceiling. ‘Upstairs,’ I said. ‘There were three of them waiting in my room.’

‘Is Howard all right?’ she asked, and for a brief moment I felt a flash of resentment at her concern for him.

‘He’s fine, they just pushed him in the bathroom. I think it was me they were after.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. They didn’t say.’

‘Did they steal anything?’

‘Nothing,’ I said.

‘What happened, they attacked you for no reason?’

‘I don’t know. It was as if they wanted something. Or to frighten me. One of them had a knife.’

‘What did they look like?’

‘Hell, I don’t know. Medium height, black hair, brown eyes.’

‘That covers about ninety-eight per cent of the population,’ she said, and smiled. Lovely smile. Just goes to show what an all-American diet and medical care can do. She was gorgeous.

‘Did they have tattoos?’ she asked.

‘I don’t remember,’ I said. ‘That’s a strange question.’

‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I was wondering if it was the triads, that’s all.’

‘The Chinese Mafia? Do they all have tattoos?’

‘Most of them,’ she nodded, her hair brushing her shoulders. ‘They’re a sort of badge of office. But if it was the triads, I can’t understand what they were doing.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, it’s not as if they really hurt you, is it?’

I was crestfallen. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘What do you call these bruises?’

She laughed, a soft, warm sound that made me feel good as she put her hand on my arm.

‘Listen, boy,’ she said. ‘When the triads want to hurt someone they do it with hatchets and cleavers and what they leave behind doesn’t generally sit in the Dickens Bar knocking back gins. If it was the triads, it was probably a warning. But why?’

‘Sally, maybe,’ I said. ‘Perhaps she’d come across them on one of her assignments.’

‘But why attack you? It doesn’t make sense.’

‘I know. Sally’s flat had been searched, too.’ I shook my head. ‘You’re right, none of it seems to make any sense.’

‘Perhaps it was a story she was working on and they think she passed it on to you.’

‘About the triads? Well if that’s what they think they’re mistaken because there was nothing in her flat and all I got from the police was a dress, a bag and the watch.’